A Stubborn Tide

The night had passed in a nightmarish whirl, Vivien's sleep broken by stomping metallic feet and gunfire. She'd thought she'd heard the sound of a dog barking in the distance, before dismissing it as a waking dream. Unexpectedly, somebody else had tried and spectacularly failed to storm the armory, provoking Pope to take a number of his partisans out, armed to the teeth. Dim hope had briefly stirred in Imogen, thinking it may have been the Doctor, but that particular dream had swiftly died. Now the next morning, they had stood huddled in a far corner, listening as Pope held court, his voice low and urgent as he waved his arms around like a conductor, his rings flashing in the faint light.

Vivien watched them through the bars of her cage, but despite straining her ears, all she'd been able to make out was the word, meadow. Since this had made no sense to her, she'd instead concentrated on putting names to faces, then faces to ranks. Pope was obviously the leader, long-haired and long-nosed, fancying himself as some sort of rocker in his leather jacket and tight trousers combo. Billy was Pope's younger brother, his greasy dirty blonde hair half tied up at the back, wearing a grubby white vest and leather trousers that creaked horribly when he moved. Whitey and Cueball were Pope's deputies, the former with a long handle-bar moustache and skip hat, the latter fat and balding, wearing a long black leather coat that made him look like a Matrix cos-player. But what interested Vivien most was the blonde girl dressed in a leather jacket slung carelessly over a black vest and dark denim jeans, with silver hand-guns at her hips and a rifle across her shoulder.

Whitey and Cueball were Pope's deputies, the former with a long handle-bar moustache and skip hat, the latter fat and balding, wearing a long black leather coat that made him look like a Matrix cos-player. But what interested Vivien most was the blonde girl dressed in a leather jacket slung carelessly over a black vest and dark denim jeans, with silver hand-guns at her hips and a rifle across her shoulder.

Pope had called her Margaret, his tone that of an exasperated parent, the others not following his example, referring to her as simply Maggie. But even though she walked amongst them as one of their number, she held herself apart, enduring Billy's wandering hands with a bland smile, her eyes dead in the white mask of her face as Cueball whispered intimately in her ear, his arms encircling her waist. Maggie watched Vivien in turn, but she kept her distance, never drawing any closer than the front row, always sitting in the end seat, rifle angled across her body as she stared at the girl in the cage.

But what Vivien hated most was the sight of the dead creature, its remains on display like some sort of sick trophy. Vivien knew a war was being waged, but there was a fine line between fighting for survival and sadistically enjoying the struggle. It might be a case of kill or be killed, but it didn't give anyone the right to desecrate the dead, alien or otherwise. Seeing its still spider-like legs and rotting eyes made something tear in the fabric of her soul, ripping her further apart inside, reminding her that this is what she would become.

Tom collapsed down into the armchair, wrapping his arms around his head. It was just screw-up after screw-up, the expedition to the armory having descended into chaos. Jimmy shouldn't even have been out there with them. He should have been tucked up in his bed, not out in the dark with his damned dog, a boy doing a man's job. But at the same time, he was needed, the same way Hal and Karen were needed, yet more kids playing at war.

He got up, going over to the bed instead, throwing himself down onto it, not bothering to take off his jacket and boots. To Tom's disquiet, Weaver had quartered a whole house for Tom and his sons, and the younger Masons had wasted no time in making it their own, Matt especially, the little boy laying claim to every toy and game in sight. As for the bookshelves heaving with Harry Potters and Manga, Ben would have...

Tom ran his hand over his beard, scrunching up his eyes, fighting the tears. Ben wasn't here, and there was no use in pretending that he was. All they could do was keep searching, hoping against hope to find him again. Exhaling sharply, he forced himself to sit up, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, resting his hands on his knees as he pulled himself together. Then he stood up, making his way over to the makeshift desk he'd set up for himself by the window. It had once been a dressing table, but he'd cleared it of its ornate French mirror and fancy cosmetics, replacing the matching spindly stool with a wooden chair. It was where he'd taken to writing his journal, the sight of the distant stars never failing to raise his spirits. Even after they were long gone, the ghost of their light still burned on, fighting the darkness.

Attempting to capture events for posterity had been a habit picked up when he'd first started teaching history. Fancying himself as the next Samuel Pepys, he would scribble down his day with considerable wit – or so he fancied. But then the world ended, the pages of history being torn to pieces, forcing Tom to drop his delusions and start writing seriously, one man recording the human race's struggle for survival. Even when he didn't feel like documenting the day's happenings, he always sat down and forced himself to.

Tom leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he should go and turf Karen out, when he heard the front door slam, signalling her departure. He sat there, listening to the stairs creak as Hal returned to his room, the door clicking softly shut, the sound muffled by distance. Tom never quite knew when to treat Hal as an adult or as a child. Father and son fought alongside each other, risking their lives for the resistance, but Tom never let Hal have Karen stay the night, nor did he approve of them sneaking off to snatch a few stolen moments together. Tom always seemed to be walking in on them at the most inappropriate times, and it was beginning to get on his nerves. He didn't want to stand in the way of young love, but as a father, what else could he do?

He exhaled sharply, wishing all over again his wife was here. Rebecca would know what to do, like she always knew. She'd understood Hal in a way he couldn't, always attending the lacrosse games and dinners that had bored Tom stiff. If you'd told Tom twenty years ago he'd have a jock for a son, he'd have just laughed in your face before burying his head in a history book again. But that was life all over, unpredictable and mercurial, none more so than nowadays, the shock of the world ending still hitting him like hammer blows.

One of these hammer blows was the Doctor. Whenever Tom thought he was close to understanding the alien, the Doctor took a sudden left turn that sent Tom spiralling into the depths of ignorance again. And the whole concept of an alien that looked and sounded human; an alien that was born so, still knocked Tom for six every time he looked at the Doctor. Logically speaking, humans were just as alien to the Doctor as he was to them, but even with that in mind, Tom still couldn't wrap his head around it all. But that had been before. But God now...

Tom lowered his arms from his head, before pulling out the strip of photographs from his pocket, holding them up to his face as he studied their battered state, half wondering at what worlds they'd been carried to, imagining where they'd been. As ever, his gaze dwelt on the girl, studying the way her ebony hair fell across her face like the night sky, taking in the defiant tilt of her chin and her wild eyes, his heart unknowingly betraying him.

A few miles away, almost a world apart, Pope and a few of his most choice comrades sat on the edge of the stage, doping up and downing beer as they shot the breeze together. Vivien was huddled in the middle of her cage, her shoulder burning from where Billy had just stubbed his cigarette out on her as though she were an ashtray.

"Hey honey," Whitey called over. "Wanna a cognac?"

They all exploded into laughter, all but Pope. He stared at Vivien, eyes inscrutable as he studied her. Then he got up, tossing his hair back, his sycophants falling silent as he approached the cage.

"How's it hanging?" he said quietly, voice devoid of mockery, only hate. "Missing your green friends? Ain't the ickle cootie up there keeping you company?"

Vivien just stared at him.

"There's no use trying to play the innocent, blue-eyes," Pope said. "We saw you with them, practically skipping along hand in hand together."

"Where's your sense of loyalty to the human race, girl?" Cueball bewailed to his beer bottle, completely stoned.

"Maybe she needs to learn how to love her fellow man," Billy leered as he came up from behind Pope, the sight of him making Vivien want to vomit. Earlier on, he'd flung beer over her, as well using her cage as a urinal, piss splattering the bars. "Have a little one-on-one instruction, yeah?"

"Sit down, Bills," Pope said, something like a warning hidden in his words.

"Spoilsport," Billy muttered, but he went and sat back down all the same.

Pope looked at Vivien for a long moment, and then he turned and went back to the others, leaving Vivien alone with her fear.

It's said I run like a stubborn tide
Unstoppable, untamed and wild
But a brave face isn't brave I've learned...

She waited, shrouded in shadow, the walls pulsating like a heart around her, flickering beats of crimson, amber and gold. Yet despite the heat of the colours, it was cold here, as cold as the blue of the box standing in the centre of the room. She watched as they circled the box like a predator did with its prey, their limbs like pincers, eyes like stones. But the box kept her doors barred against them, her shields up, systems stilled. But she didn't stand alone. Vivien stood with her, unseen but still there, silent in the shadows -

Vivien jolted upwards, a gasp escaping her lips, silenced by her gag. Then she slumped against the bars, heart thundering in her chest, feeling as though she had fallen from a great height. She was still here, still trapped. But at the same time, she hadn't been here; she'd been somewhere else, still trapped, but not subdued. She closed her eyes, trying to remember. But all she could recall was a flash of blue that made her heart ache.

Sitting up, she opened her eyes again, ignoring the painful clenching of her stomach and the rawness of her throat. So far she hadn't soiled herself, but she didn't know how long that boon would last. She didn't know how long she would last full stop. Being a hybrid made her slightly more durable than the average human, but only just. Then something shifted in front of the bars, making her head snap up, every inch of her on high alert.

But it was just the blonde girl, Maggie, sitting on the edge of the stage, her back turned to Vivien. She was downing a beer, before wiping the back of her hand roughly across her mouth. Vivien lost interest. Pope had rallied his gang together, leaving Maggie behind to guard Vivien as they set out en masse to God knew where. That's when Vivien had fallen asleep, drifting off to another world. But to where, she didn't know, only wishing she could go back. There she could fight, here she could only surrender.

Vivien buried her face in her arms, her body propped up by the bars, the past became the present, macabre thoughts filling her mind, imagining her corpse being left to rot in the cage, her head mounted up on the wall like a trophy, her fingers being worn as a necklace by Pope alongside his 'cootie' claws. She didn't want to die like this, on her knees, stinking of beer and piss, humbled and humiliated -

Something poked her in the side, making her jolt upwards, eyes flying open. It was Maggie, impatiently holding out a bottle of water. Vivien's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I'll take that gag off if you promise not to bite me," Maggie said quietly, her voice distinctively husky, every word slowed down and span out.

Vivien studied the other girl for a long moment, before nodding, wondering what the catch was. Maggie gestured for Vivien to come closer. Clenching her teeth, Vivien leant the side of her head against the bars, Maggie carefully pulling the fabric down, before unscrewing the lid, and sliding the bottle through the bars. With some difficulty, Vivien picked it up, hesitating before hastily necking it down, the water slopping down her front.

"Some nice moves back there, busting Pope's nose like that," Maggie said, startling Vivien. "Where did you learn that particular parlour trick?"

Vivien stared at her for a moment before recovering herself. "It was instinctive," she croaked, lowering the bottle from her lips. "There's just something about Pope's face that makes me want to smash it in."

Almost against her will, Maggie grinned, whilst all the while watching Vivien with hooded eyes, like she was weighing something up in the balance. "Is it true then, that you're with the cooties?" Maggie asked suddenly, making Vivien freeze.

"No, it's not," Vivien spat, slamming the water bottle down.

"Bullshit."

"Then why ask?" Vivien fired back. "If you believe I'm with them, why suggest otherwise?"

Without another word, Maggie just reached through the bars, yanking Vivien's gag back into its original position, before snatching up the water bottle and stalking off, her high-heeled boots clicking across the stage, the sound echoing around the auditorium.